


Thicker Than Water

by Writegirl



Category: Supernatural, True Blood
Genre: Blood Drinking, Crossover, Exorcisms, F/M, Fallen Angels, Hoodoo, Minor Character Death, Possession, Scarification, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalyse has begun, Castiel is missing in action, and the world is holding its breath. Sam and Dean roll into Bon Temps looking for answers, but find more questions than either bargained for.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Would I have gone all Exorcist?" When he stared at her blankly Sookie continued. "You know, pasty-pale skin, yellow eyes… projectile vomiting?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back in the Bayou

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was started some time ago, and so is AU in both the Supernatural universe post Season 4 and True Blood Season 2.

“Be still my heart.”

Sookie didn’t look up. If she let Lafayette distract her every time he had an outburst she wouldn’t get any work done. “Brad Pitt just walk in or something?” she asked as she cleared her checks from the dinner crowd. The bar was winding down, most people having found their way home as midnight came and went There were only three occupied tables in Merlotte’s, none of them in her section.

“Somethin’ better.” Lafayette was staring at the doors to Merlotte’s like Christmas had come early. He placed a manicured hand over hers, the other resting at the base of his throat. “Honey, I think Mr. Tall, white, and handsome just walked into my life.”

The blonde glanced over her shoulder. And stopped. Tall, white, and handsome indeed. The man was tall, taller than just about any one she’d ever seen except Hoyt, with brown hair that brushed his collar. He wasn’t gangly like most tall people. There was real bulk beneath his jacket, broad shoulders that tapered to a slender waist. He gave the bar a quick once over before folding into a booth, back to the wall.

“I’m sure he’s just waitin’ ta sweep you off your feet,” she teased, picking up her pad.

“Boy’s too pretty to be all straight,” he responded, leaning out the order window to get a better look. “Give me five minutes he won’t look at any a you hookers again.”

Sookie laughed and shook her head. She caught an image; Lafayette face down in the kitchen while the tall man stood behind him and-

She clamped down, cutting it off before she saw more, but what she saw was making a five-alarm blush race up her neck. “You should be ashamed a yourself,” Sookie tried to sound prim and proper, but she was smiling too wide.

“Good lord, did you see what just walked in?” Arlene had her serving tray held in front of her like a shield as she hurried over to their small huddle. 

“Kinda hard to miss, ain’t he?” Lafayette was eyeing the newcomer like a starving man just shown a feast.

The redhead patted her hair, and Sookie sighed. Arlene was a wonderful friend, but she had a problem with men; namely, she couldn’t stay away from them. Three months had passed since Rene, and already she was getting antsy for a new man. “He’s in my section, Arlene,” Sookie reminded her gently.

Arlene blushed, lips thinning. “Well, doesn’t hurt to look nice, does it?” She asked defensively. 

Lafayette was about to respond when his eyes narrowed in speculation. “They travel in packs, now?”

Sookie turned around. “Dean?” 

She hadn’t seen him in over four years; not since he rescued her from a would-be groper in a Lawson bookstore. He stood just inside the door, giving the bar the same quick once-over as the man who came in before him. Green eyes touched on her for a moment and she felt something; something dark and painful, before he turned and headed to the table occupied by the tall man, settling in across from him with hunched shoulders.

“Sookie, you know him?”

She blinked. What the hell was that? “I think so,” she hedged. She knew it was Dean. You didn’t forget a face like that, or a body. 

“And you managed to hold onto your virginity?” Lafayette chuckled. “I woulda had my legs wrapped around my ears in a minute.”

Sookie pretended to swat at the man as he ducked back into the kitchen. She grabbed napkins and silverware and headed to her section.

 

“I still don’t believe it.”

Sam sighed. They’d had the same conversation from nearly their whole trip south. “Me neither, but it’s true.”

“Yeah, but vampires,” his voice dropped on the last word, leaned over the table. “Blood suckin’ living dead vampires just walking around, announcing to the whole world they exist?”

“Bobby thinks it was one of the seals.” Sam handed him the folded up email print out. “There’s a passage about the return of ‘those between life and death’ in one of the scrolls he dug up.”

Dean shook his head while he read over the short email. Sam didn’t blame him. The first time he heard about vampires, actual vampires showing the world that they existed he’d thought it was a joke. These weren’t like the vampires they’d hunted before. Pretty much everything out of the old legends – silver, sunlight, staking – that they’d taken as lore worked on this new breed. Old breed, he corrected himself. Turns out the vampires they’d killed (the ones he hated to admit had been a disappointment) were the new kids on the block; a completely different strain of vampirism that had cropped up less than two hundred years ago. 

He and Bobby had a theory on that. If you looked at vampirism as a disease, then all diseases had mutations. The new breed was heartier; capable of walking in sunlight, immune to silver, killable only through beheading, but slower, weaker, and incapable of the vampire glamour. The older breed was more than willing to let humans deal with the new strain, practically exterminating them while the oldest vampires thrived. Which made their revealing themselves to the world even stranger. They’d spent thousands of years hiding, and the last two hundred trying to convince the world they didn’t exist. To suddenly come out like they had had sent Hunters into a tail spin. Over a year later it was still strange to hear about “Vampire Rights” on the news.

Dean folded the sheet of paper. “So how the Hell did Lilith-“ 

“Hi! Welcome to Merlotte’s.”

Dean broke off at the cheerful greeting and Sam jerked. He wasn’t used to people being able to sneak up on him. 

A waitress was smiling down at them, blonde hair pulled into a pony tail, brown eyes bright and shining. 

“Sookie?”

Dean stared up at the woman. He’d thought he recognized her when he first came in but brushed it off. He thought he recognized a lot of people these days. But with her standing this close there wasn’t any doubt.

“Dean Hampton, right?” The smile became dazzling. “I thought I recognized you. What brings you to Bon Temps?”

“Just driving through, thought we’d stop for a drink.” Dean’s smile was electric. “I’m guessing you work here?”

“Yep.”

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean grimaced. “Sookie, this is my brother, Sam.”

Sam held out his hand and half rose from the booth. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She handed them two menus. “So, anything I can start you boys on? Water? Soda?” 

“Two beers,” Dean answered.

She glanced at Sam to confirm. “All right, I’ll have those right up and you let me know when you make up your minds.”

Sam watched the blonde walk away. The other waitresses, a dark-haired woman who didn’t look a day over twenty as well as a redhead shooting glances at them while she cleaned a corner table were wearing the same outfit; dark shorts with a white shirt that was just small enough. He was fast becoming a fan of Merlotte’s dress code. “So, you know her?”

“Saved her from Mr. Grabby Hands last time I was down here,” Dean was staring after the woman as well, a small smile still on his lips. “Wasn’t plannin’ on getting lucky tonight, Sammy, but looks like things might be changing.”

Sam sighed. “Don’t suppose you could keep it in your pants until we're done here?” 

“Someone’s feeling bitchy, isn’t he?” Dean groused.

“Someone’s wondering why we’re here, instead of tracking down Lucifer.” Sam scanned the empty bar. No one was paying attention to them beyond the usual regulars interested in new faces. “Seriously, you dragged me all the way down here for what?”

Dean’s expression emptied and Sam cursed mentally. He’d grown too used to that look. It meant Dean was remembering something from his time downstairs. “Look-“

The sound of glass breaking interrupted him. Sookie was kneeling down, wiping at a spreading puddle of beer and glass with a bar rag while one of the other waitresses disappeared into the back. A black man wearing a bandana kneeled next to her and helped her to her feet. Dean was half-standing; about to see if she was all right when wide, brown eyes met his a split second before she vanished.

“Okay, that was weird,” Dean said.

 

_Pain…red…blood…screaming…Stop…Stop…StopstopstopSTOP…_

Sookie heaved, felt the sandwich she’d had for lunch lodge in the back of her throat as she leaned against the back of Merlotte’s. She should have gone to the bathroom, but she’d had to get away, get out. She’d never had a vision hit her that hard before; there and gone before she knew what she was looking at and God she was grateful for that.

There were footsteps behind her. “Sookie? You all right?”

She took a deep breath. “Fine, Sam.”

Worn boots came into her view, too-hot hands under her chin and she was staring up at her boss. “You’re white as a ghost.”

Sookie tried to smile, felt her lips stretch painfully over her teeth. “Wasn’t anything, just... memories…” she didn’t tell him they weren’t necessarily her memories.

Sam’s eyes softened. “Maybe you should take off for the night. Arelene and Daphne have everything covered.”

“I’m fine.” That came out convincing enough. “Just got caught off guard, is all.”

Sam gave her a searching look but Sookie didn’t back down. She wasn’t about to let him bully her into taking off. Besides, Bill was supposed to meet her near closing. 

With a heavy sigh Sam let his hands drop. “You be careful,” his lips quirked. “Can’t have you wastin’ all my beer.”

Sookie snapped a salute and headed back inside. The memory… or whatever it was… was fading fast, which was just fine with her. Some things she just didn’t want to see.

Arlene had taken over her table, busy scribbling down Sam and Dean’s orders, so Sookie leaned against the bar and watched them. Sam was drinking his beer, and while she couldn’t see Dean’s face she could tell by the way Arlene was lit up that he was giving the woman one of his thousand watt smiles. Sookie took a deep breath. She didn’t know which one it came from, but she wasn’t above snooping to see. After Rene she knew she couldn’t afford to stay shut off anymore. If she’d just listened sooner Dawn and Amy might still be alive.

She didn’t think Dean was capable of doing anything like Rene, or standing by while his brother did, but she hadn’t thought Rene capable of it, either. There had been something in that flash; something that she couldn’t leave alone however much she wanted to. Mind made up Sookie opened herself, just a crack, and listened.

And blinked.

Dean’s thoughts were muffled, like someone had thrown thick muslin over them; hazy and indistinct. She could sense concern for her, and vague unease, but that was it. He hadn’t been like that before. The first time they’d met the scenarios he’d painted in her head once his concern for her well being faded a little had her equal parts offended, intrigued, and tickled pink. There had been something there, though, something hidden beneath it all that she hadn’t poked at.

With a frown Sookie switched gears. The brother, Sam, was rolling his beer between his hands as Arlene walked away, deep in thought. She listened… then listened harder…

Nothing.

It wasn’t like Bill. With him there was blessed silence. Sam was there, she could almost feel his thoughts, but they were cut off; surrounded by static and noise and a void so deep she thought she’d get lost in it. When his eyes went to hers Sookie stopped. From his expression she almost thought he knew what she was doing and didn’t like it.

“They’re worried about you,” Arlene said as she passed the orders to Lafayette. “Especially the short-haired one, Dean. He was about to go runnin’ after you before Sam beat him to it.” She leaned in closer. “Where’d you two meet, anyway?”

“In Lawson,” Sookie said absently, eyes still focused on Sam. Was he another listener like her? She’d never met someone like herself before. “I was in that New Age bookstore just opened up and he helped me.”

Arlene clicked her tongue at the mention of Sapphire’s, but Sookie had been curious. She’d heard about books about people like her, but she’d never gathered up the courage to go and buy one. The place was in the basement of a Michael’s, almost invisible from the street unless you saw the dark blue awning spread over the stairwell.

 

_Sookie coughed when the door opened and a couple laden with bags walked out. The woman had black hair, dyed that way judging by her blond eyebrows, and a chain that ran from her nose to her ear. She was also wearing a torn top and black vinyl skirt, the outfit topped off by fishnets that disappeared into combat boots. The man was dressed a little more conservatively in plain jeans and a t-shirt, until you saw the black nail polish on his right hand, virulent green on the left._

_“Excuse me,” Sookie said, sliding past them. She wondered how out of place she'd be in her lemon yellow sundress and sandals._

_Sapphire’s was dark inside, filled with the smells of incense and candle wax. It was bigger than it looked from the street, and she wandered around for a while, just looking. There were display cases filled with things she’d never seen; daggers, swords, large crystal chunks with images carved into their facets, statues of gods and goddesses. She stopped to stare at one in particular. The little man was about as tall as her hand, with an oversized penis as long as her index finger jutting out happily in front of him. She wondered how he managed to stay upright with all that weight pulling him forward._

_“See something you like?”_

_The words were oily and she stepped back. A man around her age was standing right next to her. “Just looking,” she smiled shortly and walked away. She could feel him watching her and fought not to shudder. She clamped down when an image of her on her knees in front of him snuck through._

_After finding an attendant (the woman was bent over sorting through baskets of stones and cursing high schoolers) she found herself in the stacks near the back. She’d never dreamed there were so many books about mind reading. They took up a whole bookcase and part of another. She took one out and opened it to random page._

_Oil slid against her thoughts and Sookie looked up. The man was back, staring at her in the dim light. “Can I help you with something?” she asked._

_“I think so.” The man came down the aisle and she frowned. Both stacks were pressed against the wall, leaving only a narrow corridor. A corridor currently blocked by an entirely too large male that was built like a tank._

_Sookie swallowed. She could feel his thoughts pounding against her, and what glimpses got through weren’t pleasant. She wanted to slap him for thinking that about her, but she held onto her temper. “Excuse me,” she laced the words with as much disdain as she could._

_The man sidestepped into her path. “Thought you were gonna help me,” the words were gentle, but there was menace behind them._

_Sookie weighed her options. She couldn’t take him; he was too big, unless she got a good shot in. She could scream, but the only other person she’d seen in the store was the woman up front sorting rocks. She settled for trying to diffuse the situation before it got more out of hand. She drew herself up to her full height (all five foot, four inches of it) and looked him in the eye, trying to ignore the fact that her head barely came to his shoulders. “Look, I just wanna get by.”_

_He smiled and Sookie took a breath, prepared to scream the place down._

_“Lady said she wanted to get by, Tiny.”_

_The man half-turned. Just beyond him she caught a glimpse of denim and worn leather. “Beat it,” the man said._

_“Oh, I don’t think so. Pretty lady like that probably has places to go, idiots to avoid.”_

_“Listen jackass-“ The man started as he turned around._

_That was as far as he got._

_She didn’t see what happened, but from the gurgling noises and the hand clutching, she assumed that the man in the leather jacket punched him in the throat. She stepped back as her would be attacker fell to his knees._

_“You all right?”_

 

“Earth to Sookie. Honey, you in there?”

Sookie jerked and spun. Lafayette was staring at her. “Fine.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “Well, if you’ve’ come back from Narnia here’s their orders.” He set two plates on the counter.

She was blushing again, harder this time, as she gathered up the plates. At least Sam and Dean weren’t staring at her. They were discussing something, but stopped the minute she got close. “That’s two double bacon cheese burgers, medium well,” she said as she set down the orders. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Dean smiled and Sookie felt her pulse give a small jump. She remembered that look. She was just about to set him down gently when he got a not so subtle kick under the table. He tried to play if off, and she tried not to laugh. “We’re fine, thanks,” he said instead of whatever line he was planning on throwing her.

She couldn’t help it. She giggled. “Just let me know if you need anything.”


	2. It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Posessed

“Dude, what’s with the cock blocking?”

Dean glared at his brother. 

“We’re not staying here, Dean,” Sam said, before starting in on a speech about how they needed to find Lucifer. Dean stopped listening. How Sam thought he could forget about that was anyone’s guess. Sometimes he wondered if he’d played the fool around his brother too much and Sam was starting to believe the act. Besides, when he got on his “you have to stop it” kick he sounded too much like the angels for Dean’s comfort.

“Have you heard a word I said?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have,” Dean muttered. “Reminds me of how you were when you had a hardon for finding Lilith.”

Sam leaned back, but Dean continued before he could reply. “Listen, I know you feel guilty, I know you wanna find a way to fix it, but we are _not_ ready to go trailing after a fallen angel, even if we knew where to start looking.” They’d waited for weeks for a sign: nuclear explosion, seas boiling, something to signal that Lucifer was making his move, but there was nothing. It was as quiet as it had been a year ago right after the Devil’s Gate opened.

“You’re sure you haven’t heard from the angels?” Sam’s eyes were narrowed. “No dreams… signs… nothing?”

“No.” Dean took a drink. “Nothing from Zachariah, or…or Cas.”

Sam backed down. They hadn’t heard from the angel since the night he set Lucifer free. They’d gone to Chuck's, but the house had been completely destroyed, burned in a fire so hot the ground had melted into dark, shining glass. “He’s still alive, Dean.” The words sounded empty, even to him.

“Yeah.” His expression cleared. “In the meantime, the world’s ending… and personally I’d like to have as much sex as possible before it finally goes.” He took a huge bite out of his burger.

“The angels have to be planning something,” San worried a French fry. “They said they needed you.”

“Yeah, to fight Lucifer. Lucifer, Sam. The same Lucifer the douches let out in the first place. That’s about as heavy duty as it gets.” He dropped the burger. “What I don’t understand is if they were so dead set on this why they decided I was the one who had to climb in the ring. I’m not super powered, and I’m sure as hell not an angel. Don’t even qualify to be a vessel.”

“There must be a reason.”

Dean gave a half shake and picked up his burger. “Can we not talk about this right now, please?”

Sam shrugged and the two ate in silence.

 

Jesse Spence slammed out of his car, duffle bag in hand. Fuck Sarah, anyway, he thought as he marched to his apartment. If she wanted it to be over, then it was over. She was a pudgy bottle blond from Shreveport, and it wasn’t like there weren’t more fish in the sea.

“Shit,” he muttered as he dropped his keys, promising himself to fix the light by his door. The landlord should have fixed it weeks ago, but Jesse had learned the hard way that the old woman didn’t do a single goddamned thing more than she had to. 

The wind picked up as he straightened, swinging the streetlight before the whole thing blew out in a shower of sparks. He flinched and turned. The hanging light was in the middle of the street, sparking everywhere. Great, now he'd have to call the city on top of everything else. The news said it was supposed to be clear, but it looked like clouds were rolling in. 

Jesse was fitting the key in the lock when something crashed into him from behind. 

_____________________________________

"All right, all right!" Sarah Josh yelled as she rolled out of bed, but the hammering continued. It was after two, she had work in four hours, and whoever was at the door was going to get both of those facts screamed at them. "Damn it," she grumbled as she kicked a side table. "Who is it?"

"It's me."

Sarah twitched the blinds aside. Jesse was outside, bouncing from foot to foot. "It's two in the god-damned morning," she called through the door. "What do you want?" 

"Sarah… look, I'm sorry, all right?" 

"Sorry don't cut it, asshole." She looked outside again. He was leaning against the front door now, and she had an idea what brought on this sudden regret. "You're drunk, Jesse. Go sleep it off somewhere else."

"I'm not drunk, baby." He paused. "Will you let me in? I feel stupid arguin' through a door like this."

The blonde bit her lip. She should let him stay outside until he got tired and left, but she wanted to get this over with as quick as possible. There was no telling how long he'd stay making an ass of himself otherwise. "Ten minutes, Jesse," she told him as she unlocked the door. "I gotta work in the morning."

Jesse squeezed through the door once the chain was off. "Thanks," he said once she closed the door behind him. "That makes this so much easier."

She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door. "Listen Jesse, just say what you're-"

She was cut off by the vase next to the door connecting with her head.

 

"Yeah. We'll be there. Tonight at eleven." Dean flipped his phone shut and sat down on the bed. "Finally."

Sam tried not to wince as the bed springs protested Dean's weight. The Motor Inn wasn't as bad as some of the places they'd had to hold up in. It was clean, the sheets had been washed sometime in the previous week, and the neighbors weren't the rent by the hour variety. For that alone he could deal with squeaky springs.

"So, we on or what?" he asked as he closed his laptop.

"Tonight." Dean leaned back, balancing his fists on his forehead. "Eleven o'clock, three miles west of Highway 167."

Sam half turned in his chair. "Okay, now that you've talked to whoever it is, will you tell me what we're doing down here?"

Dean sighed and sat up. "We're meeting someone who can tell us where Cas is."

"What, an angel?" Sam perked up.

"No." Dean's expression was cagey.

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. There was only one reason he could think of for Dean to drag them to Louisiana. "You're gonna ask some hoodoo woman to find Castiel for us? Dean-"

"I know Sam," Dean cut him off. "Voodoo's only a little less skeevy than witchcraft, but it's all we got. Bobby couldn't find anything when he did his mojo." Not necessarily. The pointer couldn't decide where it wanted to stop when they tried. All four times. "This lady's our best bet. Besides, she owes me, and you know how they feel about debts."

Sam blinked. "Okay, so this isn't quite as crazy as it sounds. But what makes you think she can help? If the angels have Cas stashed somewhere, how'll she be able to find him?"

Dean's expression turned solemn. "This is the end of the line, Sam. I've tried summoning spells, ouija boards, Anna. Hell, I even tried to get Zachariah to tell me something." He'd spent over three hours outside Bobby's screaming for the angels before giving up. After five nights it was clear that they weren’t planning on telling him dick. "If she can't help, then I don't know what else to do."

Sam didn't say anything, just watched as Dean started pacing. He'd asked Dean before if he was just fooling himself, what made him think Castiel had been able to survive an archangel. Dean just rubbed his shoulder and said he'd know if the angel was dead. 

The thought should have been comforting, but it wasn't.

 

_Wake up._

Jimmy Novak opened his eyes, and slammed them shut again. The sun was directly overhead, pouring into his eyes and adding to the headache making his temples pound. He sat up gingerly. He hurt… _everywhere;_ his skin felt tight, his lungs were burning, and his mouth felt like someone had shoved dirty socks in it and left them there for hours.

_We need to move._

“Who…” He raised a hand to his head. The last thing he remembered was the warehouse…begging Castiel to take him instead of Claire…

_I am here…_

“Castiel?” Jimmy glanced around and climbed to his feet, groaning at the movement pulled his muscles. It felt like he’d been beaten, even the soles of his feet hurt. He was in the middle of an unpaved crossroads, scrub brush lining the narrow lanes. There were no markers, no traffic sounds. Not even insects.

_We must hurry, James,_ Castiel’s voice seemed to come from all around him. _We have little time._

“Hurry where?” He checked his pockets. His wallet was where it had been for over a year, and a glance revealed that it still held his credit cards and the sixty dollars he’d taken out on his way home.

_We must find Sam and Dean._

Jimmy turned a tight circle. “Where are you?” he asked, looking to the sky.

_Inside you._

James Novak looked down at himself. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn since giving his body to the angel. “You’re what?”

“Inside you, James.” 

James spun around, and kept spinning, his legs turning to liquid. He could make out the blurred shape of a man as he stumbled, landing hard on one knee.

“Careful there.” Hands gripped him, lifted him to his feet. “I understand this can be quiet disorienting.”

_Zachariah._

Jimmy tried to make sense of the images cascading through his mind. Whoever this creature was, Castiel was wary of him. "Who are you?" he asked, looking up into the blurred face.

"I'm surprised Castiel isn't screaming at you to run away by down," the voice said cheerily. "He can't be happy to see me." 

As he spoke Jimmy's vision cleared. The man holding him up was older and wearing a tailored business suit, with pale blue eyes that were examining him almost clinically.

Castiel grappled with James, taking control and shoving the human as far down as he could. When James was completely submerged he spoke. “What have you done, Zachariah?”

The angel’s head tilted for a second, eyes narrowed in speculation, then amusement. “Dean Winchester really did rub off on you, didn’t he, Castiel?” He loosened his grip and circled the angel slowly. “We were wondering how far down the corruption had spread, whether it was at the surface or went down to the foundations." He shook his head with a sigh. "Looks like our attempts at helping you were for not.”

“You tortured me.” He felt…strange… to admit that. Even at the time he hadn’t seen it as torture. They were trying, in their misguided way, to help him.

Zachariah waved a hand, a smile stretching his features. “Tomato, tamato… that’s not what’s important here.”

“Why am I still alive?” He hadn’t planned on living past his encounter with Raphael… had fully intended to die there, with the knowledge that he’d done all he could. Hoped he could have brought Dean enough time to save his brother, the world, from the machinations of angels. 

“Seeing as the grand finale’s about to begin we can't afford to lose another soldier.” The angel gave him a once over, the plastered-on smile fading. “Even one that’s forgotten his place. My superiors wanted to end you, Castiel, but I convinced them to let you live. For the time being.” 

Large hands cupped his shoulders and he flinched. He was _aware_ of the pressure of them in a way he hadn’t been before, the strength that could crush him before he could respond. Castiel frowned, reached out with his senses. 

And felt nothing.

He could feel the sun as it poured down, baking his vessel in his too-heavy clothes. He could feel the wind, smell dry grass and old wood, but he wasn’t _aware._ There was no wonder, no awe in his surroundings. The subtle sway of energies that connected all living things was gone. In its place was a terrible quiet that made something hot and spiked bloom in his chest. The thrum of life, the pulse of mortality was absent. He turned to Zachariah, eyes wide. “What have you done?”

The hands were lifted from his shoulders. “Consider this being grounded. Since the traditional punishments didn’t make an impression we got creative.” He walked away. “You were willing to give up everything to help these meat sacs, so we thought we’d give you a chance to experience mortality first hand. Maybe then you'll appreciate what we're trying to do for them.”

Castiel stared at the angel before gathering himself. He could run, he wouldn’t get far, but he could get to Dean, let the man know he was still alive. He pushed, felt the ether part.

Then nothing.

He should have been standing wherever Dean was, but he wasn’t. He was still standing in the middle of a crossroads, moisture pooling between his vessel’s shoulder blades. He tried again, this time pushing at the vessel. It wasn’t right to leave James to deal with Zachariah, but he had no choice. He whispered an apology before flowing outward, _up_ , and hitting a wall. He was trapped; trapped inside his vessel, unable to escape. The spiked heat in his chest spread, flowing into his stomach and reaching into his throat, he tried to draw in breath, but couldn’t.

“You feel that, Castiel?” Zachariah was staring at him. “I believe human’s call it panic.”

_You have to calm down,_ James’s voice filtered through the haze. _You keep this up we’ll pass out!_

"It breaks my heart to see you like this," Zachariah said from above him. "You used to be one of our best; followed orders without question, _believed_ in the Word. Now look at you. _This_ is what humanity has brought you to, brother."

Castiel could feel himself fading as Zachariah spoke. His vision was blurring at the edges, his lungs burned. He was dying, he knew it.

Jimmy didn't know what he did; he just knew that if he didn't do something they'd pass out. It felt like he'd reached out and grabbed a white-hot anvil with both hands. Then he was in control again, forcing lungs too long without air to expand.

"Hmmm…"

He looked up. Zachariah was staring down at him, eyes clouded with curiosity.

"Where are we?" he managed to croak.

"Oh… nowhere special," the angel waved a hand. "Just a place where you'll both be out of the way for a while. Consider this a vacation from your duties as a vessel." He looked at his watch. "Well, that's all the time I have right now. We'll be back to pick you up when he's learned his lesson."

When the angel vanished Jimmy said the only thing he could think of.

"Fuck."


	3. Aliases (And Keeping Them Straight) Are A Pain In The Ass

Detective Andy Bellefleur grimaced as they tucked another body part into the heavy coroner's bag. First it was fang-bangers getting killed, now this. In the past few months he'd seen more homicides than he saw in three normal years. It was why he wanted to be a detective here, not in Shreveport or New Orleans; small towns meant less major crime.

_Normal_ ones did, anyway.

"What the hell is wrong with this town," he said aloud. 

"Andy?" Sheriff Dearborn called from the kitchen.

The detective shook his head, sidestepping the evidence grid. Sarah Josh hadn't just been killed. She'd been hacked to pieces and scattered around her living room. There were symbols written in blood everywhere, and they still hadn't found her head. Or her heart. "We got a lead on the boyfriend yet?" he asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Coupl'a the boys went by his place and picked him up," Dearborn answered. "He hasn't said anything yet, besides asking what we want him for. Kenya said he was jumpy, though."

"You think he coulda done this?" Bellefleur asked.

The kitchen was carnage free, if you ignored the sink full of knives that had obviously been used to cut the girl up. The forensics team was still clearing them away, photographing each one before it was bagged and tagged.

"Far as I can remember Jesse Spencer faints at the sight of blood," Sheriff Dearborn said. "Remember when that Palmer girl fell off her roof when he was working the property?"

Andy felt a laugh tickle his chest before he faded away. Miranda Palmer had fallen off her roof trying to get a ball out of the gutter while Spencer was cutting the lawn. She'd cut her leg open on the way down, but the ambulance had been more concerned with him; he'd fainted and hit his head on a stone bench.

"Just please tell me we don’t got another psycho on our hands," Andy muttered. Let this be something they could pass on to the surrounding towns. 

"There was no forced entry, which meant she probably knew her killer," Dearborn reminded him.

Any huffed. "I know that." But he could still hope. Maybe she'd been careless and left the door unlocked so some sick fuck could just waltz in and do whatever he wanted with her. The next best thing was Jesse Spencer had killed his girlfriend. Either way, there would be no more bodies to pick up.

The coroner poked his head around the corner. "We're just about done here, Sheriff Dearborn, Andy." He told them. "We still haven't found the head, though."

"All right, Mike," the sheriff said. "Well, we'll have to search Spencer's place. Nell's already working on the warrant."

"You think we'll find the head there?"

Sheriff Dearborn turned around and headed for the door. "If we're lucky."

 

"Sam, look at this."

Sam finished throwing on a clean shirt. The local news was covering a homicide, the usual wide angel shots of the coroner moving the body to the transport van.

"We can neither confirm nor deny that there were satanic symbols found at the scene," the reporter for the KTAL news said. "Residents here say this is a grisly reminder of the murders that shocked the small Bon Temps community less than six months ago. We have been told that the local police have a suspect in custody, and we'll be following this case as it develops."

"Looks like we might have a job," Dean said as he pressed mute.

"Yeah, looks like."

The older Winchester pulled on his boots. "So, what's the story this time? Reporters? FBI?"

"FBI'd get us more information."

Sam smirked when Dean sighed. His brother hated wearing the suit. "Who were we last time? Tyler and Perry?"

"I used Nugent," he muttered. "We haven't used Stiles and Murdock for a while."

The FBI angle was more work than Dean liked putting out. It meant finding a drycleaner's and getting their suits done, making sure all their ID's were in order in case they ran up against thorough cops, and calling Bobby to let him know to cover their asses in case they needed to be verified. Even if they covered all their bases there was the problem of _real_ FBI agents showing up. 

"You think we should rent a car?"

"What?"

Dean fidgeted. "FBI agents usually rent cars when they're on assignment. Make us look more legit, you know?"

Sam eyed his brother. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He threw the yellow pages at his brother. "Find us a one hour dry cleaner."

Dean sighed when he closed the door to the bathroom. The small room was filled with steam from his brother, ghosting over his skin in moist trails. 

By the time he was out of the shower Sam was gone with the Impala. He's circled a drycleaners in the next town over, just to be safe. You never knew who would show up and start blowing holes in your story in a small town. All it took sometime was a single person recognizing you from somewhere else, or for the little old lady who couldn't remember the name of her cat to recall that the name on your credit card didn't match an alias you were giving everyone else. 

_Dean Hampton, right?_

Dean ran a hand down his face. Damn it, that's what happened when a job fell in your lap when you were already in town. He just hoped Sookie didn't moonlight at the local station as a secretary. If their luck held she'd never have an opportunity to point out that he'd given her another name last night, or that he'd introduced Sam as his brother, not his partner. They could just get in, take a look around, and get out before their cover blew up in the faces. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

When had they ever had luck that good?

With a shake Dean texted his brother to come back. They could milk the reporter angle mixed with a little B and E. Push came to shove they could call Bobby and have him pose as a fed. In the meantime the newscaster had mentioned a string of murders less than six months ago. It was as good a place to start as any.

 

"One of the cops said her heart had been ripped out."

"Wow, that's crazy," Dean said, leaning slightly against the counter. He added a little more husk to his voice. "Anything else?"

It never ceased to amaze him how willing people were to give out vital information to complete strangers. The right amount of teasing, of promise, and he could probably get the woman he was talking to to give him the social's of everyone in town. Which might prove useful later on if they needed to scam for new credit cards.

The blonde leaned towards him, until there was barely any space between them. "They said there was all kinda satanic stuff painted on the walls in her own blood," she whispered. "Andy, that's Detective Bellefleur, said they might call in some specialist from the FBI."

Dean fought the urge to swallow. "Anything else you can think of?"

The secretary shook her head. "Not right now. But if you give me your number I'm sure I'll know somethin' a little latter. It's been hell here the past few months. I mean, first all those fang-bangers, then this…"

"Fang-bangers?" Dean coaxed.

"Couple a months ago, Rene… his real name was Drew Marshall, went on a killin' spree, strangling fangers with his belt. He tried to kill Sookie Stackhouse, but she killed him. Took his head clean off with a shovel."

"Nell!"

The secretary slid back over the counter at the shout and Dean turned. "Detective Bellfleur," she said, voice pitched high. "This is-"  
"Dean Hampton," he finished, flashing a press badge. "Shreveport Examiner."

Dean had Detective Bellefleur pegged in an instant. Ex-jocks were easy to spot, mostly by the way their stomach and head tended to gain weight before anything else. He also had the bleary-eyed look of someone who'd spent the night sucking on a bottle. The detective leaned in. "What son? Didn't get enough gore at the crime scene?"

"Actually, I was a little late," he said, forcing himself to smile. "I was hoping you'd be able to give me a one-on-one interview. You know, just something you'd like the people to know." 

Bellefleur huffed. "Listen, kid, this is an ongoing investigation. I don’t got nothin' to say to you, or any other reporter." 

_"_ Look, I'll level with you," Dean put on his most earnest expression. "I just started working at the Examiner. If I don't come back with something my boss is gonna fire me."

The detective just stared at him a minute before walking towards the back of the precinct. "I'll make it worth your while." Dean continued as he followed. "Get your name in the papers." He smiled broadly. "You know these people better than I ever could, man. There's all kinds of things you could tell me that wouldn't compromise the investigation."

The detective looked like he was on the fence, then he shook his head. "Can't do it."

Dean heaved a sigh. "If that's your final word-"

"It is," Bellefleur said. "Now beat it."

Dean walked out of the precinct and shoved the small notepad into his pocket. He'd gotten everything they needed.

 

"I didn't kill anybody, you gotta believe me."

"Okay Jesse," Sam soothed. "I believe you. Just tell me what did happen."

The redhead glanced between him and the sheriff. "Yeah, like you'll believe me." He raked his hands over his head, leaving red scratches behind.

Sam liked to think he was good at knowing when someone was lying. Humans, at any rate. Most people just weren't equipped to lie to someone they perceived as having power over them. They fidgeted, refused to meet the eye, and did a hundred other things that gave them away. Jesse Spencer looked sick, scared, and in danger of passing out, but he didn't look like he was lying.

"Jesse, you have to give us something," Sheriff Dearborn told him. "We have a witness that places you at the scene around two AM. Your girlfriend was killed sometime between two and eight this morning. Now if you know anything-"

"It was a dream!"

Sam latched onto that. "Sheriff, if you could give us a minute?" he asked.

Dearborn nodded, then went to the door. "I'll be right outside, you need anything," he said before closing the door behind him.

Sam waited a minute before turning his attention back to Jesse. "A dream?" he prompted softly.

Frightened grey eyes went to his. "I had this dream last night," he started. "I mean, me and Sarah had a fight, she kicked me out, and I went home." His eyes unfocused. "There was a storm, or something, last night, right?"  
"I wouldn't know," Sam answered truthfully. 

He nodded. "Well, there was. At least by my place. And… and the streetlight blew out in front of my house." He sped up as he spoke. "Then I must have gone to sleep… cause…" he trailed off, eyes filling with tears.

"Jesse?"

The man looked at him again. "I had the most awful dream." His gaze settled on the table. "I was at Sarah's house… but it wasn't me. I… hit…her…" He touched the back of his head. "I…" the tears fell and he hung his head. "I don’t…"

Sam leaned forward. "What happened, Jesse?" he asked softly.

Jesse's head came up. "It was just a dream," he said. "I woke up at home, in bed. Then Kenya's knockin' on my door, and I'm sittin' in here for hours and no one's telling me what's going on. Then you tell me Sarah's…" His hands fisted in his hair. "I didn't kill her." He shook his head, wiping his nose. "I know I didn't kill her. You're supposed to be my lawyer, right? You gotta believe me."

"Okay, Jesse." He shoved his papers into his carryall. "I'll be back later, okay? In the meantime, you don't have to talk to anyone."

He knocked on the door and the sheriff peeked in before opening it wide enough to let Sam out. He glanced at Jesse."We'll get you something to clean up with, all right, son?"

The redhead nodded, resting his head on folded arms.

"Well, what do you think?" Sam asked as they walked down the hall.

"You haven't been on the job long, have you, son?" The sheriff asked.

Sam smiled shortly. "Actually, this is my first real case," he ducked his head. "They'll probably send someone out with more experience when I tell them what I saw in there. I just wanted to know what you thought of it."

"I think he's guilty," the sheriff replied. "But I don't think he was in his right mind when he did it." 

"I agree with you there."

"It's a shame," Sheriff Dearborn sighed heavily. "I've known him since he was a kid. Sarah may have lived wild, but she didn't deserve to die like that."

"People seldom do."

There must have been something in his voice of expression that made the sheriff stop and give him an assessing look. "You all right, son?"

"Fine." Sam half-smiled as he walked out of the jail.

Dean was waiting for him three blocks from the police station like they’d planned. “So…” he drawled after pulling the door to the Impala shut. “Possession?”

“Might be.” Sam headed for their hotel.  


 

Sarah Josh's house was abandoned by the time ten o'clock rolled around. Every local news channel had bilked the site for all it was worth and moved on to other pastures, the initial forensics team was done for the night. The house was actually a trailer set far back on an oversized lot, nearly hidden by the surrounding trees and bushes. The main building had been added onto over the years, the end result misshapen and slightly off. The steps were cut cement blocks painted over with spray paint.

"Gotta love these doors," Dean smirked as he picked the lock. The main trailer itself was old, with a lock that hadn't been updated since before 1960; easy to pick without breaking the mechanism and tipping someone off.

Sam's nose crinkled as the smell of blood hit him. The humidity meant it didn't dry, not completely, so the odor stayed heavy and rank on the air.

"You'd think they woulda cracked a window," his brother groused as he sidestepped the police tape.

The inside of the house was once cozy, but was currently littered with forensics markers. The furniture was piled against the walls; the couch upended and leaning precariously against several dining room chairs. Sam squatted down on the outside of a large circle spray-painted on the floor, his flashlight sweeping the walls quickly. 

“This wasn’t some wannabe Satanist,” Dean commented, flashlight zeroing in on a section of wall covered in blood. .

"Whatever this demon was doing, this is some serious spell work." Sam shone the light in the center of the living room. A symbol had been painted on the floor in what looked like black spray paint until he looked closer. He could just make out slight indentations in the dim light. "It burned this into the floorboards."

"Our boy wasn't half-assed." Dean pointed to a complex array of symbols on one wall. "That's angel-proofing." He flashed his light on the other wall. "Same here."

"He didn't want interruptions," the younger brother said softly.

"The news said the girl was cut up, and that they found evidence at the boyfriend's house."

Sam shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense, Dean. Demons don't set their victims up to take the fall in a homicide."

"Yeah," Dean grimaced. "They don't play arts and crafts with their kills either." He stopped, then half-turned. "That's north, right Sammy?" he said, nodding to a wall.

"Yeah Dean. Why?"

Sam watched as his brother traced the crime scene with his flashlight. He knew the look. Dean had found something; a pattern or a memory that might help them get the thing that did it. 

"Four corners," he said finally.

Sam's eyebrows went up. "Okay," he drawled.

"The hands were there," Dean flashed his light on two points on the circle. "From the pictures I'm guessin' the head was there, facing north." His arm fell. "This thing was summoning something."

"Question is what."

"Don't know." Dean looked at his watch. "But we got a date with a hoodoo woman in about an hour and a half."


	4. Need Voodoo? Will Travel

“It’s a bus.”

Dean’s shoulders tensed but he stayed silent. 

Sam slapped at his arm. The mosquitoes here were brutal, and apparently singled him out as their next meal. _Should have brought OFF at that Piggly Wiggly_ , he mused to himself as another invader swooped low. “It’s an old bus, Dean. We’re supposed to meet this person at an old bus in the middle of the swamp?”

“Sammy, you’re PMSing. Take some Pamprin.”

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam turned in a tight circle. They were in the middle of a swamp… literally. They had to leave the car almost a mile back because of the mud, there were mosquitoes everywhere. Dean had lead them down a dirt road for nearly twenty minutes before stopping at the rusted heap and leaning against it. Sam slapped at his neck as another mosquito lighted. At the least they could have attacked Dean too.

"He's a little less tempting."

The brothers turned at the voice. A woman separated herself from the trees. 

Dean cleared his throat. "Miss Jeannette."

"It's been a while," the black woman said as she walked forward, leaning heavily on a thick cane. "Didn't think I'd see you again after last time."

"Yeah, well…here I am." His smile was weak.

"Hmm…" She gave them each a piercing glance before heading to the entrance of the bus.

"You don't need to rock the cane," Dean said as they followed. "We're not tourists."

“Some folks need the theatrics,” Jeannette answered, standing straight and leaning her cane against the side of the bus. “Else they don’t think it’ll work.” She gave the two brothers another long stare before she pulled Dean into a hug. 

Sam gawked. It wasn’t often Dean let someone hug him, especially since his return from hell, but he was letting this woman do it without complaint.

“You’ve been pushed and pulled every which way, haven’t you, boy,” she said as she let him go. Her hand settled on his shoulder for a moment before falling away. “You and your brother both.” She walked into the bus.

Sam shared a glance with Dean and followed. “Who said we were brothers?”

The woman’s gaze swept over him. “I know blood, boy,” she told him. “And the blood between you two is thick and strong.” Her eyes narrowed and Sam fought the urge to fidget. The last person to look at him like that was Anna.

Inside the bus was dank and smelled of rotten plants and incense. Jeanette dug around the leather bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, followed by two cups.

“I need you,” Dean said, hands flicking at the collection of hanging snake skins. “We need to find someone.”

Jeannette half turned, her eyes on Sam. “Then pick up the yellow pages.”

“Please,” Sam piled on as much earnestness as he could. “He might need our help.”

"Lots a people need help in this world. Don't mean I'll go jumpin' in the pot for them, either." She poured the dark liquor into both cups and offered one to Dean. "Dark things is walkin' the world again. Now ain't the time to go poking my head where it ain't wanted."

Dean took the cup and swirled the liquid around. "I know how dangerous it is," he countered. "Trust me."

She glanced between the two of them and sighed. “I owed you a debt, boy.”

Dean scratched the back of his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.”

"Fifteen hundred."

Sam fought the urge to choke. "What?" he finally laughed out. "Fifteen hundred… dollars?"

"No, boy. Fifteen hundred sheep. The debt's the only reason I'm agreeing at all."

Sam turned to his brother. "Dean-"

"Done." 

He was about to ask where Dean planned on getting that kind of money in the middle of the night when his brother pulled out a thick wad of cash and started counting off bills. "Where did-"  
"Don't ask," Dean cut him off as he counted. When he was done he slapped the whole on the scared table next to her. 

Jeanette didn’t look surprised. She gathered the cash and shoved it in her bag. "Had a feeling something big was coming," she said as she raised her cup. "Didn't think it'd be you." She downed the liquid in one shot. Dean followed suit. "I do this, we're clear. Understand?"

Dean bounced slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

  

Sam examined the collection of bones and herbs with trepidation. The incantations they used were mostly Latin based, fairly new as far as supernatural things went. There was a precision about it, a knowledge that even if you’d just picked up the book and only half believed you could still get it to work if you had everything set up right. He still wasn’t sure if he was more afraid or comforted by that fact.

Voodoo wasn’t like that. It required feeling, a connection to elements, to powers, that were older than western theology. No one could pick up a ‘Voodoo For Dummies’ and start summoning spirits, no matter how much attention to detail you put into the sigils. It was also a practice that burned you the minute your guard was down.

“Stop worrying like an old woman,” Miss Jeanette tossed the words over her shoulder as she built a rough circle from red powder. The bare patch of ground outside the bus was fire lit and covered in arcane symbols. “I’m not that like lily white ghost following you around. Pride goes before a fall, and I know when to be careful a where I step.”

“Lily… Pam?” Sam fought the urge to turn a circle. Even if she was there, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

Miss Jeanette straightened, pulling the drawstring on her bag. “Her soul’s long gone. The ghost I’m talking about is caused by guilt. You carry it around like a weight, let it drag you down.” Her gaze flicked to Dean. "Least yours you can help."

"Less Dr. Phil, more summoning, Jeanette," Dean scowled.

She laughed outright at that. "Dr. Phil'd run screaming if he had to deal with you."

Sam skirted the circle until he was standing next to his brother as Jeanette went back to ignoring them. "How'd you two meet again?"

Dean gave him a sidelong glance. "Before Dad disappeared," he answered with a huff. "I was in New Orleans for a while on this voodoo thing. Helped Jeanette and her sister outta a jam." 

Sam perked up. "Right before you came and got me?"

"Few weeks." Dean's eyes never left the woman as she worked. "You'd think the people down here would know how to deal with a haunting." Well, more like a haunting on top of a poltergeist on top of a possession, if he wanted to get technical.

"I'm done now." She hefted a small bowel and a knife. "Get yourself over here."

Sam stepped forward at the sight of the knife, but was stopped by a quick glance from Dean. _Don't be a pussy,_ Dean's eyes told him.

When the older Winchester was in the center of the circle Jeannette gave him a sharp glance. "Take that off," she said, gesturing to his shirt. "There's a connection between you and the one you're looking for," the voodoun continued as Dean pulled off his tee and kneeled in front of her. "A connection of blood and fire, pain and glory. We'll need that for what you want."

Sam watched as his brother took the knife. After a steadying breath he cut himself along his forearm, sending dark blood into the rough beaten bowl at his feet. Sam bit his lip as more blood drained from his brother, until the bowl was half-filled. After a quick sign from Jeanette Dean used his shirt to staunch the wound.

"We need eyes," Jeanette's voice was deep as she poured herbs and liquids into the bowl with one hand, beating steadily on a small drum slung on her shoulder with the other. "Eyes to see, ears to hear what you seek." She swirled the bowl. "The blood will seek him out, show you the way."

Sam felt his mouth go dry. _Please tell me you don't have to drink that, Dean,_ he thought to himself. 

Miss Jeanette dipped two fingers into the blood, coating them with the thick liquid before drawing a line on Dean's forehead over both eyes. "Eyes to see," she intoned. She dipped her fingers again, drawing a line from Dean's chin to his heart. The line arched, became a complicated symbol that gleamed in the half-light. When she was done she placed her hand on Dean's chest over his heart. 

"Tell me what you see, boy."

Dean jerked. It felt like something had reached inside him and yanked his soul free. He wasn't in the swamp anymore, of that he was certain. The tree's were tall, the night hot, but not humid. Dry heat. He was standing in front of a run down single story building that sprawled out on both sides, the porch tilting dangerously. The remains of a low fence leaned a short distance away, short shadows in the darkness. "Ranch house" he muttered. There were no street lights, nothing to indicate where he was. But that wasn't right. He _should_ know where he was. The scene kept changing, swirling until it didn’t make sense, then settled on a figure hunched near the back of the building, trench coat billowed around him. 

_Cas?_ He tried to say the word, but nothing came out. _CAS!_

The figure looked up, and there he was, staring up at him. Only he wasn't wearing an expression he'd ever seen on the angel's face before. He looked tired, and scared, and pissed off. "Dean?"

_Where…_ before he could finish asking he was pulled backwards, landing hard in the dirt.

"Dean…? Dean, you okay?"

Dean blinked. Sam was staring down at him, hand on his chest. "What happened?" Sam helped him sit up. Damn, but his chest hurt. 

"I don't know," Sam said, kneeling next to him. "You said Cas's name, then you flew back."

"Somethin' don't want you to find your boy," Jeannette said from the circle. She was watching them both with narrowed eyes. "Somethin' strong enough to knock you back into yourself." She cradled her hand to her chest.

Dean shook his head. "You okay?"

The voodoun shook her hand out. "Burned. Coulda been worse." She stalked towards them. "I did what you asked, and I'm not doin' it again. You get anything useful outta it?"

Dean heaved himself to his feet. "He's alive, it's a start."

"Good. Now get outta here. I got work to do cleanin' up the mess you made."

For the first time he noticed the clearing. Broken glass was everywhere. All the windows on the bus had blown outward. "Damn angels," he muttered as he pulled on his shirt.

  

Jeanette dumped the last of the glass into a trash bag with a sigh. It had taken her over an hour before she got it all. She could have let it lie, but there were times when she needed to be rooted in the earth, and nothing hurt more than dirty glass sticking in a toe.

"Damn that boy," she muttered to herself as she straightened, tossing a battered broom and dustpan into her bus. She knew Dean Winchester was trouble the minute he burst into the exorcism she and her sister were performing. He was too young, too cocky, and too damn smart-mouthed for his own good. Four years hadn't made him any less a pain in the ass, but he had changed. She could feel it when she touched him. Something writhed beneath the surface of his soul, sucking him under so that his eyes were empty and pain filled. She'd almost been tempted to give him something for it, but she doubted it would help. That kind of pain dug in sharp hooks and held on.

And that was only the start. 

Then there was his brother to think about, and she had a feeling if she thought too long on it she'd get a headache. There was something off about the boy, something that made her skin itch. He hadn't felt right. Powerful, yes, but not right; like what he had shouldn’t be there, shouldn't be anywhere. What's worse was the boy knew it, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Whatever they'd gotten themselves mixed in she wanted no part of it. There were things in the world that could rip her to shreds, and she'd survived for a long time by knowing when to walk lightly.

Jeanette was walking back to her car when she felt it: a presence that made her arms pebble in gooseflesh despite the humidity. The trees were silent around her, the keening of insects quieted. Jeanette stared into the darkness, searching for a sign of the creature. "I know you're there," she called, turning a tight circle. "I can smell ya."

"Impressive."

The voodoun narrowed her eyes as the creature stepped free of the treeline. She ignored the body it was wearing. Flesh meant little in these things. 

"You know, I'd thought you were just another conman looking for easy marks," it said conversationally. "Thought I'd come out for myself, take a look around." It smiled widely. "And guess what I find? The little hoodoo woman that could."

Miss Jeanette kept her eyes on the creature, hands reaching for her mojo bag. "I ain't afraid of you."

The thing laughed at her, clapping its hands lightly. "You really think that little trinket is gonna do anything to me?" It held up a hand, and the bag slipped through her fingers, flying through the air. The creature held the bag up to its nose and sniffed. "It is very nice, though." It eyed the bag appreciatively. "A lot of work went into this. A lot of time and patience." It’s expression flattened out. "Shame it won't get anymore use, though."

Jeanette circled wide, glad when the creature followed suit. If she could make it back to the bus she should be safe. Her and her sister and worked for hours on it, etching wards into the metal itself. She'd had demons bang themselves out trying to get to her in there. "I got no quarrel with you," she stalled.

"Of course you don't," it said, expression changing to indulgence. "But I can't have you around spoiling my fun."

She didn't think. She ran. There was laughter behind her but she ignored it. Her hands were just touching the doors to the bus when her back erupted in fire.

  

_That was Dean._

Jimmy stood up and walked out into the yard. "You saw him, too?" he asked.

_That was no dream, James._

The human waved a hand in the space that seconds ago had held Dean Winchester. It was just air; hot like the surrounding air. There wasn't even an imprint to suggest that someone had been standing there.

Jimmy dropped his hand with a sigh. He's been lucky to find the remains of the house just as the sun was going down. So far the only thing he'd figured out was that he was in the US, and that was only after the stars had come out. Amateur astronomy had finally paid off, one small plus on the increasingly negative pile he found himself sitting on.

He hadn't run into anything in the hours since waking up: no cars, no people, not even cows. Just endless stretches of flat land and scrub brush occasionally broken by a stunted tree. No cactus though, so he couldn't be too far west. He'd nearly given up when the ramshackle remains of the house separated itself from the evening gloom. It had taken all his strength to get the ancient pump going, and the dribbles of water that finally came out were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, but ran out entirely too soon. "Tell me again that this isn't Purgatory," he asked the angel.

_We are in the mortal realm._

Yeah… in the most deserted part of the mortal realm the angels could find, apparently. "Any idea _where_ we are?"

Something rippled up from the angel. Something that felt like annoyance mixed with self-loathing. _No._

"You're not really good for anything, are you?" He snapped, wishing he could punch the entity inside him without damaging himself. 

_We traveled north for the greater part of the afternoon,_ Castiel answered. _The presence of this dwelling means we will more than likely run into a town soon._

Jimmy tugged his coat off and marched back to his spot on the porch. He'd found an old couch cushion in the house that would be an adequate pillow. "And what then? How do we get in touch with Dean?"

_The mention of civilization made your stomach hurt more than it has over the past several hours. Why?_

The question made Jimmy blink. "Because I'm hungry."

_This…emptiness… is hunger?_ The angel's voice sounded peculiar. _And once you reach others you believe they will relieve this hunger?_

The thought of walking into a dinner and ordering a large double cheeseburger with the works made his stomach growl. "I do still have cash on me. Every town has at least one place to eat out." He frowned. "And you didn't answer my question. How do we get in touch with Dean?"

The annoyance was back at the question. _You will have to find a way._

Right. "You don’t know anything? A cellphone number? An address?"

_In my former state I had no need of such things._

Which meant their current state was gonna be hell. "Do you know _anything?_ " he finally grumbled as he leaned against the house.

_Robert Singer._

Oh thank… whoever. "City? State?"  
The angel didn't respond. 


	5. One Little, Two Little, Three Little Murders

"Looks like Andy's off the wagon."

Sookie looked over her shoulder to where Detective Bellefleur was slumped at the bar, fingers playing with a shot glass. "He's had a tough couple months," she explained as she set down two whisky sours. "What with the murders a few months back and him dead-set he had the right man when he didn't…" she trailed off. No need to let them know her brother had been the prime suspect in a murder investigation. "Anything else I can get you?" she asked brightly.

"We're good, thanks," Sam said quickly. 

"All right then. Closing's in half an hour, kay?"

Sookie walked back to the order window. Terry was dealing with the fries in the deep fryer while Lafayette stared at the two men. 

"Don't suppose you'd be willin' ta peek and see if one of them's more towards my persuasion?" the cook asked, rotating a snifter full of tequila..

If the question had come from anyone else Sookie would have given them an earful and stomped off, but she knew Lafayette was joking. Mostly, anyway. "Don't suppose you'd be willin' ta tell me exactly what you got up to in Miami last month?" she tossed back.

Lafeyette's smile was slow. "Honey, we both know you'd run outta here coverin' your ears before I got started." He gave the brothers a final look and turned back to the kitchen. "Terry, baby? Why don't you take off early?" he asked. "I think I can handle this."

"Yeah… I'll just…Lafayette… Sookie…" Terry stripped off his apron and hung it neatly on his hook before walking to the front. “Could you-“

“Hamburger, no mayonnaise, extra pickles and mustard,” Lafayette said with a small smile.

Terry nodded.

The cook shook his head slightly as the older man walked slowly into the main room of the bar. "Shame what happens to some people," he said to no one in particular.

Sookie thought back to the few times Terry's thoughts had intruded on hers. Very little of what he thought about those days was pleasant. “He’s doing better, though,” she added weakly.

Lafayette gave her a pointed look. “Last time he was doin’ better I got seventeen stitches. I know,” he interrupted before she could defend the other man. “Terry doesn’t want to hurt anybody.”

Sookie frowned. It happened after she’d worked at the bar for a few months. Lafayette had put a hand on Terry’s shoulder to let him know Sam needed him out front, and the vet had reacted without thinking. After that it became a strict rule that you had to speak to the man before touching him. “Those the last bunch?” she asked, tilting her head towards the fry vats.

“Yep.”

 

Dean poured himself another beer from their pitcher, eyeing the pool table. Maybe tomorrow he'd see if he could hustle up some more cash. Merlotte's was one of two bars within Bon Temps' city limits, so there should be someone willing to bet on a game. Jeanette had cost him more than he'd planned on, and they'd gotten less than he hoped. But the fact that Cas was alive was enough to make some of the weight lift off his shoulders. 

"Well, it's definitely not a werewolf," Sam said from behind his laptop. The modem number Dean gave him took him right to the detective's computer. Andy Bellefleur might be a drunk, but he was thorough when it came to his case files. "His notes say the heart's missing, but the body was dismembered using sharp objects, most likely the bloody kitchen knives in the sink." He scrolled down further and grimaced. "The head wasn't found at the scene, but it was found in the boyfriend's freezer."

"Moon was right, though," Dean pointed out. "Maybe it didn't want to get its hands dirty?" Sam gave him a withering glare. "Kidding, Sammy. What else they got?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing, really. All the evidence points to the boyfriend being the perp. Open and shut case."

"Until the next one shows up," Dean added.

Sam closed his laptop. "This thing might be long gone, Dean."

"Or it's picking another target right now," impatience crept into his voice. "Why are you so dead set on leaving?"

"Why are you so dead set on staying?" Sam leaned across the table. "Castiel is out there, somewhere. We should at least start looking for real."

Dean leaned halfway across the table. "I saw him huddled in the back of a farmhouse. No street signs. No street _lights_. He could be anywhere. Hell, it might not have been in the US for all I know." That tasted like a lie to him. Cas _could_ be anywhere in the world, but he had a feeling his friend was closer than that. “Tomorrow, we’re outta here, Sammy.” He held up the pitcher. “You ready for round two?”

Sam looked at the bar. No, _she_ was still there. He downed his drink “Your turn.”

Dean grimaced. “I’ll pass.”

As if sensing the two men were talking about her the bartender turned to their table and gave him a look that would have given Alistair pause. All he’d tried to do was be friendly, maybe flirt his way into a free pitcher, and she’d damn near bitten his head off. She’d even keel-hauled Sam when he tried to apologize ( _his_ idea, not Dean’s). 

Sam rolled his eyes.

“All right, I’m up!” Andy’s voice carried over the music from the juke box.

“Good, now get to walkin’” Tara’s voice followed.

Dean shook his head. “Think she’s nice to anyone?”

Sam ignored the question, chose to focus on tomorrow. Twelve hours from now Bon Temps would be another strange town in their rear-view, and it couldn’t happen fast enough. There was something about this place that made him nose twitch, what Dean used to call his ‘Spidey sense’. Why Dean couldn’t sense it was beyond him.

Sam looked at his brother. Dean’s shoulders were hunched, his head bowed. He knew that the nickel-plated Colt his brother favored was tucked in the back of his pants next to Ruby’s knife, the same place it had been since they rolled into town the other day. Dean’s instincts were going off too, before they even knew about the murder. It wasn’t concern for the angel that made his fingers twitch on the mug in front of him, that kept his eyes roaming. 

Dean downed his drink and pulled out his keys. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Sam levered himself out of the booth. The only other person in the bar was an older man biting carefully into a hamburger. He’d seen him there the other night, so either he was a regular, or worked there. The man looked up from his food and locked eyes with Sam before giving him a small nod. Sam returned it. There was something about the man that reminded him of their father.

Dean followed his gaze. “Vet?” he asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Sam was pulling the door to the Impala closed when he heard it; two screams. Dean’s head came up and without saying anything the brothers started towards the far end of the parking lot. 

   

There was a body in his car.

There was a body… a woman's body… in his car…

There was a _goddamned_ woman's body in his _goddamned_ car…

"Is that all, Andy?"

The detective shook himself. "That's what I said, ain't it?" he demanded. That last scotch was playing with his head. “What’s goin’ on now?”

To her credit Kenya didn't do more than purse her lips at his outburst. "Yeah, Andy." She looked over her shoulder. "Pete's taking care of Tara, Donnie's got Sookie, James is interviewing Sam and Bud's taking care of those two boys from Shreveport."

Bellefleur looked past the deputy. Bud and two men were leaning against the hood of a dark car, both with arms folded. "Them two…" he muttered to himself as he started towards them.

"…and that's it…" Dean, said as he approached. "Detective Bellefleur called you guys and kept everyone back from his car."

"Looks like a story fell right in your lap," Andy said as he came up behind Bud. “Lucky you.”

The kid shook his head. "I'm off the clock. Got fired when I told them I couldn't get anything." He glared at the older man. "Thanks, by the way."

"Uh huh," the detective looked blearily between them. "So you just happened to be on the premises when a body winds up in my car."

"Andy," Dearborn started. 

"When'd you show up, anyway?" he pushed. 

The tall one answered. "Around twelve thirty."

"I wasn't asking you!" He focused on Dean. "You got here at the same time?"

Dean came off the hood. "Yeah… yeah we did."

"I got here at ten, that means you-"

"Andy," Bud put a hand on his shoulder and led him away. "The boy’s name is Sam Peteron. He works for the DA's office. He interviewed Jesse Spencer this morning."

Andy shook off Bud‘s hand. "And? He's a suspect-"

"You were about to accuse a member of the DA's staff of committing a murder, Andy," Bud said slowly. "To his face."

Andy blinked slowly. "So?"

He watched as Bud resettled his weight then glanced towards the narrow drive to Merlotte‘s. "Look, Andy. It's been a long night, and your sister's here to take you home."

"No Bud. She was in my car-"

"Which means you can't work on the case anyway," Sheriff Dearborn finished. "Look, Andy, you clocked in at 8 AM. You’re overworked.“ The sheriff gave him a swift once over. “You’re also drunk.“

Andy huffed. “I am not overworked!“ 

Dearborn stepped closer, until he was nose to nose with his detective. “Go home, Andy. Sleep it off and we'll see you in the morning."

Detective Bellefleur watched as Bud walked towards the two, hands on hips. Just like that he was cut out of the investigation. With a savage kick to the air he walked towards his sister's car.

"Kenya! Wait!"

Tara's voice carried over the dull roar of police radios and Andy turned around. The bartender was talking to Kenya, hands moving jerkily. Kenya called to Bud and herded the girl into one of the police cars.

   

Sookie watched as Tara ran after the officer. She was sick of seeing bodies. In fact, if she never saw one again it would be too soon.

"Now why'd you talk her into goin' an' do a dumb thing like that for?" 

She blinked as Lafayette rounded on her. "She knew who it was," Sookie said defensively. "If they found out later it would make her look bad, like she was hidin' something."

The cook rolled his eyes. "She got conned by that woman, now the bitch ends up dead in the parking lot of her job? How far you think they gonna look for somebody else?"

Sookie wanted to say there was no way they would suspect Tara of killing the woman. She had an alibi, had been working the bar since eight that night, and dozens of people could vouch for her not leaving the bar for more than five minutes at a stretch. Then she remembered how dead-set Andy'd been on Jason being the killer because he associated with the women. Tara had more reason to kill this woman that Jason.

"That's enough, now," Sam stepped between them before she could reply. "This's got us all on edge, and snappin' at each other's not gonna help." He scratched his head. "Lafayette, could you make sure the kitchen's halfway decent before you take off?"

The cook looked to where Kenya was driving away with Tara in the back seat of the squad car. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, sweeping back to the bar.

Sam pushed his hands into his pockets. "Sookie, you want me to drive you home or anything?"

She shook her head. "My car's over there," she said, nodding towards a shadowy section of the parking lot. "I'll just finish up and head out."

Sam squeezed her shoulder. "We better get on inside then." He looked over to where Sam and Dean were standing by a car. "Tell those two there's a drink on the house for both of them if they want." The police were finishing with the scene; the body was already gone, and Jeff was hooking up the car to his tow truck. She glanced at Sam and Dean, still leaning against their car, but it looked like they were arguing.

"-leaving tomorrow!"

"That woman had her heart ripped out, Sammy! There's no way we're going anywhere! What if-"

Dean broke off as she approached. He gave his brother a hot glare before turning to her. Despite his earlier anger his voice was soft when he spoke to her. "Hey, Sookie. You okay?"

She nodded. "Sam said there's a free drink for you if you want," she told them, arms folded beneath her breasts. "Lord knows we all could use one after tonight."

"Dean-"

"Sure," Dean rode over his brother. "You got a ride home, or-"

"Car's parked over there," she interrupted him. "Though Lafayette'd probably take you up on it if you asked." She couldn't help but smirk as she spoke.

"Lafayette?"

"Our cook. Nice, smart, well-built, great fashion sense…" she trailed off. Dean's eyes lit up as she spoke. "He's real nice. You'd like him."

The smile faded from Dean's features.

"Sounds like your type," Sam said as she walked away, and she didn't need to see him to know he was grinning.

"Shut up Sam."

Sookie heard them follow her back to Merlotte's. She only had to clear her checks for the night, and then she'd see Bill. She pulled out her phone to call him. It was amazing, how just hearing his voice could make her feel better. 

 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. Jeanette was dead. The woman who had pulled his ass out of the fire the last time he set foot in Louisiana (not that he'd admit he needed her help, not when it was halfway her fault the shit spiraled out of control), who'd given him the only solid lead he'd had on Castiel in months, was sitting in a morgue right now.

He couldn't shake the feeling he was responsible.

"Still, we might need help on this one," Sam continued. "Two murders in two days?"

Dean rubbed his mouth. "She was already stiff, Sam.,” his voice was flat. “Whatever killed her did it right after we left. Right after she did something she didn‘t want to do in the first damn place." _Seems to be going around,_ he thought to himself.

Sam eyed him for a moment. “What… you think her helping us find Cas has something to do with this?”

“I don’t know.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it put her on the map, you know? Kinda like a flare, or something. Whatever it was found her in the middle of nowhere.”

Sam watched his brother down another shot. ‘ _Free drink_ ’ translated into however many you could pull from the bottle of Patron before you got kicked out, it seemed. The bar was empty now except for Sam, Sookie, and Lafayette, who were steadily cleaning. None of them so much as glanced their way. “That’s not gonna help,” he said quietly as Dean poured himself another shot.

Dean set the bottle down with a hard thunk and shoved the cork in. “Neither is an intervention.” His shoulders were stiff beneath his coat as he twirled the glass.

Sam tried another tactic. “It wasn’t our fault, Dean.”

His breath came out in a frozen waft.

“Sam.”

The lights in the bar flickered, moving along the west wall in a wave before returning to normal.

The two looked around. They could hear the cook. The man behind the bar (another Sam) gave a shrug and went back to wiping down the counter. The man who'd been eating when they walked out the first time was behind the bar as well, checking off a list.

“I don’t see Sookie.”

Dean was standing before his brother finished talking.


	6. Worse Angels and Better Demons

          Sookie couldn’t breathe.

                    It was like being choked by Rene, only this time there was no weight of another person on her, no fingers clutching her throat, nothing she could fight against. Something was forcing itself into her, pouring into her mouth and nose. She could feel it tearing at her, pushing itself deeper, harder. She screamed but no sound came out.

          _Mine, mine finally so young so sweet perfect special never let go never mine mine mine,_ There were images behind the words; pain and torture and torment. It hit something inside her, and she felt a thousand hands tearing at the obstruction. She forced herself to move, pulling a shelf down and sending cleaning supplies raining down around her. Another noise intruded; a loud banging against the door to the supply closet, followed by a growled shout.

          “Sookie!”

          

          “Sam?”

          “She’s not here!”

          Dean opened another door. It looked like a back office. An empty back office. “Shit!”

          “What the hell are you doing?”

          _Come on Sookie, yell, kick, something,_ Dean darted out the back door, but saw nothing. He could hear his brother running to join him after looking around the front. A handful of seconds had passed since the flicker, but they were precious. If whatever was killing got hold of her and he couldn’t stop it in time…

          The sound of plastic bottles hitting the floor made him turn. There was a narrow door, the handle blended perfectly to the wood. He twisted the knob, but it didn’t move. “Sookie!”

          “Hey, I said what the hell are you two doin’?” Dean ignored the voice and the hand on his shoulder as he kicked in the door. The blonde was slumped against the wall, black smoke pouring into her.

          “Sam!” He reached out, pulling her out of the small closet while Sam threw salt at the cloud. It coiled in on itself, paused as if to strike again, and then billowed through the vent. 

          “What the fuck was that?”

          Dean ignored the question as he dragged the woman into the main room of the bar. Sookie was limp in his arms, eyes closed. She wasn’t breathing. "Sookie!" He shook her. He was aware of Sam behind him, of Merlotte and Lafayette flanking them shouting, but that didn’t matter. He was about to start mouth to mouth when he was swept aside.

          And landed several feet away.

          "Dean!" 

          He was halfway to his feet when Sam reached him. "What the hell?"

          Sam nodded. A man was holding Sookie, cradling her as she clutched at him, coughing violently. 

          "What happened?" The newcomer asked.

          The black man shook his head and pointed to the brothers. "You gotta ask them. I ain't never seen no shit like that before in my life."

          Dean straightened his jacket as four pairs of eyes swung on him and his brother. Great, like he needed any more shit today.

          "It was a demon," Sam said when his brother didn’t speak.

          Lafayette shook his head. “That ain’t-“

         "You got a better explanation?" Dean interrupted, fighting the urge to roll his shoulder. "'Cause I'm all ears."

          The man stood, taking Sookie with him as easily as if she weighed nothing, and warning bells went off in Sam's mind. He could tell by the way Dean shifted he was thinking the same thing.

          "Bill," Sookie's voice was hoarse. "Think you could put me down now?"

          Bill looked down at her, then at Sam and Dean. “You two, come with me,” he said curtly, carrying Sookie into Merlotte’s office.

  

         Sam Merlotte didn’t know what to make of the two men. His first instinct said they were dangerous. Not vampire dangerous, but close enough to it to make his lip curl the minute he saw them sitting in a corner booth of his bar. When Sookie left their table that first night bright eyed and rosy cheeked he asked Lafayette what was going on. After speaking to the cook he revised his early assessment of the men. Friends for Sookie were few and far between; most people in Bon Temps either thought she was crazy or some kind of witch. If Sam and Dean Hampton could lift her spirits just a little, he was willing to push his instincts aside.

         He should have known better.

         Over the two days since they came to Bon Temps there had been two murders, one in his damn parking lot not six hours ago. Add Maryann appearing out of nowhere and now demons hunting in his bar… Sam ran a hand through his hair. Running seemed like a better solution the more the thought about it.

         When Bill demanded the two men follow him into his office Sam hadn’t said a word, mostly since he didn’t think the vampire would listen to anything he had to say, anyway. Now he was left staring at the closed door while he wondered just what the hell to do next.

         “Sam?”

         He looked up. Lafayette was staring at him, eyes wide. He didn’t blame him. The first time he’d seen a person possessed he’d nearly shit himself. “You all right?” he asked out of reflex.

         The cook laughed, but there was no humor in it. “We got vampires, a dead hoodoo woman, and now demons? No Sam, I’m pretty fuckin’ far from all right.” He tore off his beaded head wrap and ran a hand over his scalp. After a small snort he straightened and went to the bar, pulled down a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. After three shots he paused and gave his boss a hard look. “Wait a minute. Why the hell is you so calm about all this shit?” he asked accusingly.

         “Well…” Sam’s mind darted. 

         Lafayette shook his head. “Uh-un, Sam. I’ve known you too long for you to go lyin’ to me now.”

         He blinked. “Wait… I wasn’t…” the barkeep floundered.

         Lafayette came around the bar, bottle and shot glass still in hand. “Now I make a livin’ off lyin, Sam,” he started. “And I’m pretty damn good at it, so I know when someone’s fixin’ ta start spinnin’ bullshit.” He poured a shot of tequila and held it out to his boss.

         Sam downed the liquor in a burning gulp.

          

          “I know what you are.”

          Bill Compton glared at the two hunters over Sookie. He’d seen their kind before over the decades. A few unlucky ones had even tried to kill him. These two were watching him with the same expression. Not the usual fear of those coming face to face with the living dead. They watched him with practiced eyes, bodies tense and ready to move.

          “We’re not after you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the taller one said quickly. He took a step towards Sookie and Bill hissed, showing his fangs. “I just want to take her pulse.”

          “Her pulse is fine.” He looked to the other one, who was hanging back slightly, keeping a clear line of sight. Bill could smell gun oil and powder. No doubt he was armed, which made him the most immediate threat. He held himself ready to draw at any moment. Holding Sookie as he was it would be difficult to disarm the human before he could fire, and if he carried the right kind of ammunition it would mean death. “What are you doing here?”

          “What are you?” the shorter one asked. 

          “Bill.” Sookie stirred in his arms. “They saved me from…” she trailed off and turned bruised eyes to them. “What was that?”

          The two shared a knowing glance. “A demon,” the tall man said softly. “It was trying to possess you.”

          “A demon?” she looked to Bill. “A… fire and brimstone, agent of the Devil demon?”

         “That about sums it up,” the shorter man answered.

         Sookie looked between the three men, an incredulous smile fading from her face. “There’re demons now?” she asked, her voice soft.

          Bill knew his expression gave him away before he answered. He hadn’t wanted her to know about such things. “Yes.” He could almost feel her mind working furiously. Vampires she had grown used to over the past year, but shape-shifters? Demons? Most people thought them myth. “It could have harmed you greatly if not for these two men.” And it galled him, admitting that. If it had possessed her there was nothing he could have done to drive it out.

          Sookie positioned herself so she was sitting in his lap. “What would it want to possess me for?”

          The two men looked at each other. “Demons are pretty much intangible,” the taller one explained. “They need a physical body to affect anything on this plane. Once it had you it would use you to do whatever it wanted.”

          “Killing people’s usually at the top of the list,” the other man added. 

          The taller man closed his eyes briefly. “I’m Sam, by the way,” he said before tossing his head to the side. “That’s Dean.”

          “Bill,” the vampire answered. 

          “Okay, now that that’s outta the way,” Dean stood and turned to the door. “Sammy-“

          “Wait,” Sookie stood herself. “Where are you goin’?”

          “That demon’s still out there,” Dean answered. “It’s probably what killed Miss Jeanette and that kid yesterday, which means it’s picked this place as its new playground. Which means we gotta kill it before it kills anyone else or does whatever it was sent here to do.”

          Bill looked up sharply at that. “Kill a demon?” he asked, voice incredulous.

          Sam hunkered into himself. “We have ways.”

          The vampire couldn’t keep the humor out of his tone. “I don’t know who you think you are-“ 

          "Listen,” Dean interrupted. “We do this for a living, and I don’t care how old you are there are things you’ve never seen or heard of. So unless you have something good to add, shut up.”

          Bill tensed, prepared to teach these children manners, and stopped. There was something coming from the younger one: a violent, fierce, yawning darkness and it gave him pause. A similar energy was pouring from the elder, light where his brother was dark. Bill frowned. _…there are things you’ve never seen or heard of;_ Dean’s words came back to him abruptly.

          Sookie stumbled, hands at her temples. “Sookie?”

          "I’m fine,” she said, lips tight. “Just… just give me a minute.”

          "Sometimes victims can have headaches for days afterwards,” Sam’s voice was apologetic.

          "Better stock up on Excedrin.”

          Bill frowned. It wasn’t physical pain that made Sookie squint her eyes. There was something else. “Are you sure?”

          Sookie nodded, then turned her attention to the two men currently trying to sneak away. “Wait! Is that thing gonna come back? Will it try to…” she trailed off, then steeled herself. “Possess me again?” 

          For the first time since coming into the office Dean’s eyes softened. “Demons don’t usually go after the same body twice, Sookie. But if you’re worried salt-lines at doors and windows and brick dust will keep most things out.”

          "Salt and clay?” Sookie’s hand massaged the base of her throat. “That’s just an old country myth.”

          "Sometimes those are the best,” Sam countered.

          “Come on, Sam,” Dean said as he turned, thumping a hand against his brother’s chest. Sam followed, walking backwards two steps with his eyes still trained on Bill before turning and following Dean out of the small office.

          “Bill?” Sookie’s voice was soft, concerned.

          He shook his head, determined to alert Eric of this new development. The news that hunters were in the area had to be out before anything else. “Sookie, did you sense anything about them?”

          The blonde frowned. “I can’t read them,” she confessed. “Not like you. It’s like there’s something there keeping them away.” The blonde shuddered. “Sometimes there’s images, they just flash and then they’re gone. When they were talking about killing I saw a woman. She was… glowing inside… like there was a halogen lamp where her heart should be. It doesn’t feel… natural.”

          Bill looked at the door. Not natural, indeed.

          

          “Jesus Christ, that was close,” Dean muttered as he slammed the door to the Impala. Merlotte and the cook were standing on the porch of the bar, staring at Sam while he handed them charms to ward off possession with an extra one for Sookie. That left just one emergency ward in their arsenal. He’d have to make more when they had down time.

          Sam finally pulled himself away from the two men and stomped down the stairs to the car. Dean leaned his head briefly against the headrest. Sam had his bitchface on. 

          "Think you could’a pissed him off more, Dean?” his brother asked when he slid into the car. There were times Sam wanted to punch his brother. Putting them in danger by angering a vampire was high on his list of things to hit Dean for. 

          “Come on, it worked out.” Dean didn’t want to think about the way the vampire had stiffened, just for a moment, before letting his comment slide. Any situation you could walk away from was a winner in his book.

          Sam gave his brother a wide-eyed stare before shaking his head. It was times like this that made him want to put Nair in his brother’s conditioner.

          The Impala roared to life and they sped out of the parking lot. Merlotte’s sign was dark. Sam clenched his fits, willed the shaking to stop.

          “Hey, you all right?”

          He could feel Dean staring at him, but he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. “I’m fine.” Sam spread his hands on his knees. It was like that now, whenever he tried to use his powers. The initial rush of energy, the euphoria, as he prepared to fight. The downside was that it left him shaky at the best, completely incapable of doing more than curling into a ball and moaning at the worst. This was definitely in the best category.

          “There’s a McDonald’s down the 72,” Dean soothed as they drove. “Some coffee and lard and you’ll be fine.”

          “Yeah,” he answered absently, looking out the window. There were no street lamps, just like every other country road. Only the pavement and the darkness ahead. Sometimes he wondered what was out there, beyond the car, waiting for someone to break down. Thousands disappeared like that every year

          “-ake up.”

          Sam started. “Huh?”

          “You were zonin’ out on me,” Dean put both hands back on the steering wheel. “I asked if Bobby left a message on what the hell we’re dealing with here.”

          Sam pulled his phone out. “No messages.”

          Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel. 

          The younger Winchester’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it,” he said after a minute.

          “What?”

          “Demon possession takes just a few seconds, Dean.” Sam finally turned to look at his brother. “We were looking for Sookie for at least ten. She should have been possessed when we found her.”

          “She got lucky, Sam,” Dean snorted. “If you wanna call it that. She’ll probably be screwed up for the rest of her life.”

          “And you don’t think dating a vampire would make her screwed up?”

          Dean laughed. “Vampire. Something physical. Something you can touch. Something you can kill. Demons aren’t physical, they’re spiritual. They mean Hell exists, they mean the Devil exists…” he trailed off. “It’s a lot of shit civilians don’t wanna think about.”

          Sam stared at his brother. It was easy to forget that there had been a time Dean didn’t know about all the horrible things that were really out there. Sam was willing to admit that he had always known, in the back of his mind, that these things were real. 

          Dean shook the conversation off. “We gotta catch this thing, Sam, before it kills anyone else.”

          

         "We're back where we started."

          Jimmy turned a tight circle in the middle of the crossroads. He knew that walking for hours could make it seem that the world around you didn't change, but this was different. He looked at the single tree: an ancient oak with wilted limbs and a bush with yellow flowers at its base. "We're back where we fucking started."

          _We have been traveling in a straight line since dawn._

          He didn't answer. He knew they'd been traveling in a straight line, because he sure as hell hadn't taken any of the strange forks they'd passed. Somehow they'd ended up at the crossroads that he'd been dropped at.

          _Let me._

                    Reluctantly, Jimmy let himself relax. They'd found out it was easier when he did that, for Castiel to take the reigns for a while as he slid into the background. The angel breathed in deeply, stretching out his senses as far as they could go. This place felt… familiar. 

          _The human body can go up to four days without water, you know,_ Jimmy's voice echoed through him. _I filled up at that pump this morning, but I've been sweating like crazy. Plus no food…_

          The thought made their stomach clench painfully, and Castiel breathed in deeply, attempting to dispel it through his will. Pain was not something he was unaware of. He'd been a warrior since the beginning, long before humans sprang up from their surroundings. But this pain was different. Cuts, bruises, slashes, he could deal with, understand. The constant gnawing force of hunger was something else entirely, the dry pain that coated their throat or the burning agony of feet forced to walk in shoes not designed for long distance travel foreign and approaching unbearable.

          The angel banished the discomforts from his mind, forced himself to focus on his surroundings. Yes, this was the place where they started, but how did they get there? Something wasn't right.

          "You've been very bad, haven't you, Castiel?"

          He whirled at the soft voice. A young girl, no more than sixteen, was staring at him quizzically, held tilted. The jeans she wore were torn and dirty, the top had once been white, but was now a dingy grey. "Who are you?"

          She shrugged, the movement delineating too-thin shoulders, and came towards him. "No one."

          "How did you-" the angel stopped talking, stopped moving. The girl was still staring at him, but this close he could feel it. The power, almost too much for such a small frame to contain, licking out of her and swirling at her feet, moving the dirt there in small gusts. "Lucifer."

          The girl didn't respond aside from running a hand up a bronze arm. Time itself had burnt out and been remade since the last time he saw his brother; since he and the others shoved him into his prison. Lucifer's screams shook the pillars of Heaven before he was sealed. Castiel stepped back, felt James' panic, his desire to run, and suppressed it before it took over. 

          "It's been a long time, brother," the girl said, voice still soft. 

          The angel nodded, still edging backwards. There was no where to run and he was powerless. "Not long enough."

          Lucifer turned his attention to their surroundings. "I've been watching you. You've been here for nearly three days and haven't discovered the truth of this place, have you?"

          "What do you know of truth?" 

          Lucifer came forward. "More than you, it seems. I'm free, Castiel. And you are… here."

          With a frown Castiel focused on his vessel. James Novak was hot, tired, close to starving, but his body was holding up well. The hunger and thirst were on the edge of life threatening without actually having slipped over. In fact, neither had worsened appreciably over the past several hours. 

          _Consider this a learning experience._ That's what Zachariah had told them. A learning experience. Knowing the main problems that man faced every day of his existence; hunger, thirst… loneliness. "We are trapped."

          _Trapped? What the hell does that mean?_

          Castiel ignored James, staring instead at the horizon. They were indeed in the mortal realm, but their surroundings were warped… twisted around on itself. They could go in any direction, and end up at the place they started, only more exhausted. How long until his vessel broke under the strain? How long until he could no longer push the pain aside and force them to move?

          The girl smiled. "Finally, you see what they have done to you."

          He turned his gaze back to the girl. She hadn’t moved at all, only watched him. "Why would you help me, Lucifer?"

          The girl's eyes blazed. "That is not my name." Heat washed over Castiel, made skin flushed with sweat prickle. "It is a name given to me by humans." 

          "Your name is blasphemy."

          The girl stepped forward and Castiel stepped back. Or tried to. It felt as if there were a wall at his back, hard and unyielding. When she was close enough Lucifer reached up, placing a hand on his cheek. "Have they twisted the truth so far that you cannot see it brother?" The question was soft, the girl's voice sad, almost pitying. "What have I done to deserve such scorn, such hatred?"

          Inside his mind, James was keening in agony. Lucifer's touch felt cool to him, soft and dry, but it was burning the human, tearing apart his essence. "Stop it," he demanded.

          The hand fell away, the pressure at his back dissipating. The girl looked down, eyes darting. "I am sorry," Lucifer said, taking a small step back. "I was unaware I was causing your vessel pain."

          Castiel stared. This was not the Lucifer he had been told of, the menace he and his kin had died, killed, and torn apart whole planes of existence to stop. This creature had listened to him, stopped when he asked, and looked, if not contrite, then confused that what she had done could hurt. 

          The world around him bowled outward, rippled, and Lucifer stepped back. "You're free, my brother," the girl said solemnly. "There is a town seven miles north of here.” She pointed in the direction they had traveled before.

          "Lucifer-"

          She vanished with a rustle of feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For those wondering, Lucifer will not have a large role in this story, nor will the apocalypse as it is in Supernatural. There will be a little overlap. For those wondering, this series takes place about a month after Sam opens the gate to Hell, but before the official start of Season 5.
> 
> once again, thanks for reading!


	7. More Things In Heaven and Earth

          "So… have you dealt a lot with demons before?"

          Bill sighed heavily. He'd hoped that Jessica and would distract Sookie from what happened earlier. Her anger at not being told about his progeny had eclipsed everything else, followed swiftly by passion. She had been dozing as he ran a hand down the curve of her spine, amazed at how she seemed so much warmer than other humans. Now she was staring at him, burnished by the firelight, eyes shining.

          "I've heard of their existence," the vampire said slowly. "Though I've never actually seen a person possessed by a demon."

          Sookie shifted against him. "Would I have gone all Exorcist?" When he stared at her blankly she continued. "You know, pasty-pale skin, yellow eyes… projectile vomiting?"

          Bill grimaced. "From what I understand those who are possessed look just as they did before. The last time I'd heard of an actual demon possession from a credible source was more than thirty years ago."

          He frowned. He'd been in Britain at the time, watching as a vampire's human companion was sentenced for crimes they swore were not his doing. When the word 'possession' was spoken the court had gone silent, the oldest vampires turning pensive. It was the first time he'd learned that something truly lay beyond death. The first time in decades that he feared what would happen when he met his own end.

          "Hey…" Sookie ran a hand down his arm. "You all right?"

          "Yes." He turned away from the memory of Kyle. "Those two men who helped you, they were the friends you spoke of yesterday evening?"

          "Yeah. Never thought I'd seen Dean again, personally. He struck me as a rolling stone, you know?" she smirked. "When I thought Sam was just a dog I named him after him."

          Bill half turned to look at her directly. "Did you know what he does?"

          She shook her head. "No. He just said he was down here on business, that's all." She sat up on her elbows. "Why?"

          The vampire steeled himself. "They are Hunters, Sookie."

          "Okay…" the word was drawn out, confused. "I'm guessin' you don’t mean deer hunters?"

          Hate, old and bitter, welled up. "Men like them hunt creatures like myself. Anything supernatural can fall prey to them. Even shape-shifters such as your boss." The man who had hunted him a century ago killed anything he could find, proclaiming them sins against God. "Hunters are ruthless, cruel. There's no telling how many they have killed."

          Sookie's eyes dimmed. "You don't think they're here for… you… do you?" her voice was small.

          Bill shook his head. "I doubt it. We have come to an agreement with many hunters since revealing ourselves to the world, but they are not like an army that follows the dictates of a few. There have been several attacks on nests in recent months, too well executed to have been done by amateurs." And none yet had been brought to justice.

          The blonde shook her head. "They wouldn't do that," she countered. "I mean, I know they're a little strange, but they wouldn't hurt people unless they thought they had to." She didn't know where this certainty came from, but it was there. Hard on the end of it images flashed in her mind: pain and fire, screaming. 

          "I've alerted Eric of their presence," Bill rubbed a hand down her back, frowning at the feel of goosebumps. "I would like you to avoid contact with them whenever possible. Hunters have been known to use humans to get to their targets."

          "I can ask Sam for some time off," she ventured, eyes beginning to droop with sleep. "I think nearly getting possessed counts as a reason to play hooky." 

  

          "Please tell me you've got something."

          Dean was jittery. Full on, about to tear his own skin off (which brought up a whole _shitload_ of memories he didn't want to deal with) jittery. Two days. Two days of nothing. No more attacks, no strange occurrences. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Part of him said the nasty blew town once it realized there were people who knew how to fight it hanging around. Another part said they were dealing with some kind of fucked up werewolf, since the killings stopped once the moon wasn't full. The other ninety percent of him told those parts to shut the hell up.

          "Andy's still filling information about Miss. Jeanette," Sam filled in, scanning through the detective's harddrive. "We got a connection to Tara Mae Thornton."

          "Why does that name sound familiar?" Dean muttered to himself around a mouthful of apple pie.

          "She's the bartender at Merlotte's. Apparently, she and her mother paid Miss. Jeanette for exorcisms a little over two months ago."

          That caught Dean's attention. "Possessed people don't ask for exorcisms."

          "Apparently these two do. Tara insists it was all just for show, but it seems her mother isn't as skeptical." Sam leaned back. "Looks like your hoodoo lady was running scams on the side."

          The older Winchester shrugged. "Everybody's gotta make a living. Anything else?"

          "The heart was removed surgically, just like Sarah Josh. Toxicology hasn't come back yet." He clicked to another screen, then frowned. "There is this, though." He turned the laptop towards his brother.

          "Ouch." Dean examined the picture of the three slashes down Jeanette's back. "Those aren't from any animal you'd find down here." He looked at the middle gouge. "That goes to the bone."

          "Yeah," Sam turned the laptop back around. "They found a viscous substance in the wounds, but haven't got an ID on it yet." He closed the laptop. “The first victim didn‘t have slash marks on her back that match these. Demons don’t work like this, Dean. We could be dealing with two bad guys here, dude."

          "What? A heart-snatching… whatever the hell rolls into town the same weekend as a demon?"  
"Could be," Sam pressed. "Sarah Josh was killed and laid out according to ritual. There were sigils, symbols. Jeanette didn't have any of that. She was killed somewhere else and dumped where she couldn't help but be found."

          Dean cocked his head. "Huh, a baddie that wants attention."

          "Or wants to bring attention to someone else."

  

          Lettie Mae Thornton was a thin, bird-like woman who looked far older than her forty –six years. They'd agreed that Dean should canvas her while Sam did some digging on Merlotte. The police report listed Tara as living with her mother, but there was no way he could imagine the bitter woman living in such a cheery house. The lawn was mowed, the flowerbeds freshly planted. The bartender could probably make roses wither just by glaring at them.

          Dean tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt. He was supposed to look respectable, church-going; someone who carried a bible in the glove compartment of his car and believed angels were there to protect you from harm. If he managed to make it through this without exploding he'd consider it mission accomplished.

          It was easy to gain access to the house. Lettie Mae nearly fell over herself when he let Miss. Jeanette's name slip as he introduced himself. He was whisked through the living room and into a small kitchen, where she was cooking.

          "You were friends with Ms. Jeanette?" the woman asked as Dean sat down in a wooden chair that had seen better days.

          "Yes ma'am," he answered. His smile was self-deprecating. "You probably won't believe this, but she saved my life."

          It was apparently the right thing to say, because the woman reached across the small kitchen table and took his hands. "Oh, honey, I know exactly what you mean." Her eyes were earnest. 

          "I had a problem," Dean started. "With drugs, drinking. I wanted to stop and I couldn't…" he trailed off. "Something kept me from going into rehab, from getting help."

          "I had a demon in me, too," Lettie Mae told him. "It made me drink… made me mean. I was lost for so long, I'd thrown away almost everything. My health, my daughter. Then Miss Jeanette drove the evil out of me." Tears came to her eyes. "It was a demon that killed her, I know it."

          Paydirt. "What makes you say that?"

          "Evil's always waiting to take good people, like Miss Jeanette." She wrung thin hands. "She tried to help my daughter Tara, but her demon was too strong."

          "Ms. Thornton… did you daughter ever look… different to you?" When her eyes rounded in confusion he continued. "Did her eyes ever look odd. Kinda black?"

          "Tara's eyes have always been black, if that’s what you mean."

          Great. He changed tactics. "Has her behavior changed in the past few days? Or maybe you noticed a smell recently? Something like rotten eggs?" Dean pushed.

          Lettie Mae sighed. "Tara hasn't lived here in a few months. She moved out after I…" she paused, eyes on the table. "I was real bad to my baby girl before Miss. Jeanette took that demon outta me,” the woman explained, voice flat. “But the last time I saw her she looked… happy. She'd been taken in by a woman named Maryanne Forester after she got arrested. Sheriff Dearborn said that's what Maryanne did; take in those that needed it." She frowned. "Why you so interested in my Tara?"

          "I'm just… concerned about other people who've gone through the same thing we have." Not a complete lie, whatever had killed the hoodoo woman might start looking at those she 'helped' as potential victims. "I saw Miss Jeanette the night she died, just a few hours before they found her. She said something was coming."

          Ms. Thornton's eyes went wide. "You think she knew someone was gonna kill her?"

          "Maybe." Dean stood. "Thanks for talking to me, Ms. Thornton. I appreciate it."

          She rose with him. "You're not gonna do something stupid, are you?"

Dean grinned broadly. "Not if I can help it."

  

          Sam Merlotte didn't exist.

          Sam leaned back and closed his laptop. He'd set Ashe's program to search for any information he could find on the man. Sam Merlotte didn't exist anywhere accept on the deed to his bar. His social security number belonged to Samuel Merlotte, a boy who drowned when he was four years old in west Texas. He couldn't find a birth certificate, next of kin, not even a high school diploma. His tax records only went back five years, right to the year he brought the land his bar was built on as well as several small family homes. All in cash. Other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the man. He paid his taxes, kept his licenses up and never so much as had a complaint filed against him by his tenants.

          Sam pulled out his phone and speed dialed his brother. "Any luck?"

          "None," Dean answered. "I don't think Jeanette ran a con on her though. From the way she said she drunk, if she stopped cold the DT's woulda' killed her in less than a week." Dean paused. "Find anything on Merlotte?"

          "Nothing." Sam reopened his laptop. "And I mean nothing. Everything about this guy is surface only. Until five years ago he didn't even exist."

          "So, what? You think this is some kinda revenge thing? Drop a dead hoodoo woman in your parking lot to say thanks for ditching five years ago?" Dean snorted. "Gotta be an ex-girlfriend."

          "Don’t know." Sam pushed to his feet. "What about Tara Thornton?"

          "Apparently she got an exorcism and was all right for all of ten hours," Dean explained. "The next time Lettie Mae hears from her she's in jail for a DUI. Get this, she said she swerved to avoid a naked woman and a pig." 

          "A pig?"

          "Yeah. You hungry?"

          Sam looked at his watch, it was almost two. "Sure."

  

          _Do you often eat flesh?_

          Jimmy hung his head. "Please stop calling it that," he muttered around a mouthful of meatloaf. The angel hadn't spoken since their run in with Lucifer, had been absolutely silent, which suited him just fine. Had waited until they were around people who couldn't help but notice the sweaty, dirty, sun-burnt, half-starved man talking to himself in a back booth to remind him that he still had a heavenly creature crammed somewhere inside his frame.

          Lowel's Diner was a greasy spoon, the kind his grandfather told him about when he described traveling after coming home from World War 2; a tarnished silver tube somewhere between train car and bus that stood just on the edge of town. The booths might have been candy red once, but had long since faded to a color between rose and pale pink. The linoleum table was scratched, with deeper veins of damage running through it. The single waitress looked old enough to be his grandmother. But water was free and nothing on the menu was over six dollars.

          "More water, honey?" Amie asked, shaking a pitcher of ice water.

          "Please."

          _Why does it disturb you when I call it flesh?_

          Jimmy waited until she was finished pouring to take hold of the pitcher. "Why don't you let me just have it?" he asked with a smile. "It'll save you having to come back over every five minutes."

          The grey-haired waitress let go of the handle. "You let me know when you need another one, okay?"

          Jimmy nodded, and tucked back into his meal. This was the best tasting meatloaf he'd ever had in his life, even if a part of him was willing to admit it was a little overdone.

_What you consume was once part of an animal, and therefore is flesh. Why would my naming it offend you?_

          "It just does all right?" Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I eat vegetables, too."

          Castiel hunkered in his host and allowed the human to continue eating uninterrupted. The pain that gnawed at his stomach for days had eased, but James continued to eat. It was interesting, taking in nourishment this way. Before he didn't understand the obsession his charge had with eating, his joy at finding a place that prepared food to his liking. He found himself constantly drawing from James' experience to place flavors. The meatloaf was flavorful, the thick gravy salty, but pleasant. He wondered what else diner offered.

          Lucifer had been truthful when he spoke of a town seven miles from where Zachariah had imprisoned them. Delmar was small, with less than a hundred citizens, or so Amie claimed. He could almost feel them; almost feel the grace his father had given the humans here flutter against his host; some weaker, some stronger. They were in Nebraska, that much they'd learned since coming here. In the dead center of Nebraska, with nothing but dry brush for miles in any direction. No regular buses came through the town, or truckers who might offer him a ride. He was stranded.

 _We should see if there is a place we might bed down for the night,_ the angel said as James was mopping up the remainder of the gravy with a biscuit. _Perhaps buy clothing more suited for this climate._

          "I don’t suppose there's a hotel in town?" Jimmy asked Amie when she came to clear his plates.

The older woman smiled. "The Red Baron's still up and running. Joyce only keeps up four rooms though. It's at the other end of town. Can't miss it."

          Just the thought of walking that small distance further made Jimmy's feet throb. But it was a small price to pay for a hot shower and a bed that had to be softer than weathered floor boards or dry ground. "Thanks."

          "Sure thing." Amie stacked the plates in a plastic bin and hefted it onto her hip. "Anything else I can get ya?"

          Jimmy left the diner twenty minutes later with spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and a large order of ice tea, as well as the largest single piece of blueberry pie he'd ever seen, the last at Castiel's insistence. 

   

          "We have a problem."

          Sal waited for a response, but the woman he watched didn't even acknowledge his presence. "It didn't work," he continued.

          "We didn't expect it to."

          He blinked. "Then why-"

          "Because we had to try," the woman cut him off, putting another flower in place.

          Sal looked around the room. Flowers were everywhere, every kind; sitting in vases, woven together into garlands. Almost every available surface was littered with them, or parts of them. The woman was currently arranging a bouquet of roses and tulips in an oversized vase. The smell was nearly unbearable. "The spell almost killed me."

          Thick shoulders slumped. "Pity. Are you sure she was a virgin?"

          "Yes."

          She turned around. In his day she would have almost been called matronly in the short sleeved, ankle length sundress. She was older, perhaps forty, a red head just starting to lose her looks and grow thick around the arms and middle. It was a shame, really. A few years ago she would have been stunning.

          "Have you found out anything useful?" She asked, idly flipping a trimming knife in delicate hands. "Other than she's not a rogue stirring up unnecessary trouble?"

          "There are hunters in Bon Temps." He grimaced. "Two of them. One of them is named Sam."

          "Really?" The woman asked with a smile, and Sal stepped back. She tapped her lip with the knife, the point digging into the skin "Now that is useful." 

          The demon swallowed. "Do you want me back in Bon Temps?"

          The smile faded. "No. You'll be of more value to us elsewhere." She turned her back to him and Sal fought the urge not to run out the French doors. There was something unsettling about her, something that made him want to run screaming. He’d thought that over a thousand years in the pit had made him immune to the feeling, especially on this plane, but he was wrong.

          The demon’s trip through the gardens was short and uninterrupted. The mansion was empty, except for his superior. Higher level demons usually had entire entourages, those who they took under their wing in the pit, who acted as body guards once they made it out. This woman didn’t. There hadn't been anyone, not even a human plaything. Outside the large gates the demon frowned. 

          He wasn't really sure she was a demon at all.


End file.
